Anger Issues
by hipstertimedork
Summary: "He has no idea why it hits his hearts so heavily, but then he supposes it's because it is where he is at his weakest. It always has been, he knows that, but this time maybe they're just a little more fragile than usual." A little twelve x clara oneshot consisting of drama, arguments, anger and unresolved sexual tension. Based off a fic promt from tumblr.


Anger Issues

She had saved him, again.

She almost died for him, again.

And she must have thought him stupid if she believed this twelfth incarnation was just going to let it slide.

He's just so… _angry._

It didn't take them long to realise this new quick temper - a leash that could still be incredibly short at the best of times. It's a hot, blinding rage that seems to consume him – to crawl frantically along his bones, through the dull blue of his veins - forcing its way into his hearts and pressing down hard. He has no idea why it hits his hearts so heavily before giving pressure to his head, but then he supposes it's because it is where he is at his weakest. It always has been, he knows that, but this time maybe they're just a little more fragile than usual.

He blames his little human for this, of course; for only her chocolate brown gaze and wide-eyed way she looks at him could make his hearts beat so hard against his chest that he fears, if she stood close enough, she could hear them crying out for her.

Clara Oswald, the girl that suddenly didn't seem so impossible anymore.

Except for now, when she trails after the Doctor as he marches through the TARDIS doors, flinging mental profanities in every possible direction. He arrives at the console and begins flicking switches with such abandon that his beloved ship produces noises that could only be translated as disgruntled annoyance and surprise.

Clara stands a short while away from the console, arms crossed at her chest and feet planted firmly to the cold metal floor. She narrows her eyes at the silver haired alien and bites her tongue.

"When did you get to be so _stubborn_?"

Her face wrinkles when she hears his bitter laughter, his accent heavy with sarcasm and irritation, "Me? Stubborn?" He hits a particularly large button as he spits out the word and the TARDIS shudders suddenly. "I'm sorry, but I'm pretty sure I wasn't the one ready to throw myself into flames for the fun of it."

She stumbles forward slightly in outrage, "I was trying to save _your_ life!"

His cold blue eyes are on hers, and he's dragging himself along the edge of the console towards her, brows pulled dangerously low and forehead creased with a mixture of anxiety and rage. His tone is dark when he speaks, his voice dry and raspy. "No – see, _this_." The Doctor points one long finger in her direction, and she's almost certain that he's trembling. "It doesn't happen anymore. Do you understand? This isn't happening. I never want to see you pulling a stunt like that again. You hear me? I will _not_ watch you die in my place-"

"Are we seriously having this argument again?" If she wasn't so focused on his nearing hand, she's sure she would have rolled her eyes. "Well, I am sorry. I won't do it again. Remind me to leave you alone next time you decide to risk your life – I shan't get involved." She bites out each word, sarcasm dripping from every syllable.

A low growl emits from his throat and the Doctor grits his teeth, suddenly aware of the way his body is almost shuddering with rage. He turns back to the TARDIS console, digging his long fingers into his thick, greying curls and pulling hard. "I won't stand for it, Clara – Maybe I let you slip through my fingers before, in my _stupid _last body, but God help me - I will not let you do it now."

The mention of his last incarnation must have hit her hard, he presumes, because she's quiet - but the Doctor doesn't look at her - he can't. He doesn't want to see the look of pure hurt in her eyes, the painful nostalgia kicking in; that longing which he had spent so long trying to erase - from the lines on her face, and the crevasses of her heart. He busies his self by flicking switches again, softer now, his mind made up.

Clara watches him drift around the console, like she has many so times before. She watches the way his coat flaps open slightly when he moves, revealing a sliver of the red lining underneath, and the way his long, skilled fingers press down onto buttons or curl around levers. She observes the way his brow is creased in frustration; his jaw tightly clenched in a way that told her that he must be grinding his back teeth together. She can tell so much about him now – this version of him – and her heart lurches in a way it never has before.

Because she now knows him well enough to realise when he has his mind set on something; that he's about to do something he will most likely regret – but goes ahead and does it anyway.

Her heart shudders as she tiptoes towards him slowly, eyes wide as takes in his frantic, jagged movements; the way he has carefully kept his back to her all this time. "Doctor…?" Her eyes travel to the screen to her right, and she feels sick as she watches her home address slowly materialize onto it. She abruptly rushes forward and grasps the console, her voice low. "Doctor, what are you doing?"

When he finally turns to look at her his mouth is shut; his lips a grim, thin line. "I'm taking you home." He says simply, before flicking one last lever into gear.

Clara eyes him cautiously, "W-what?" Her lips curve slightly, against her will. He wouldn't take her back – not for good. He _needs_ her. "But… you'll be back next Wednesday, yes?"

He all but breathes out his reply, like it's an effort just to utter the words. "No, Clara." It feels like forever, but he finally meets her eyes. "I won't be coming back."

The brunette feels her throat contract, and it's suddenly hard to breathe. "N-no!" She stutters, and attempts to back away but her legs feel like jelly. She clenches her shaking fists, digging her nails into the soft flesh of her palms. She tries very hard not to shriek at him. "No! No, you can't- you _wouldn't_."

He's not looking at her, his gaze fixed on the intricate detail of the console. It angers her that he doesn't say anything; that he chooses to just sit back and let her suffer like this. It was so like _him._

"Oh this is so like _you_." Her rage gets the better of her, and she advances closer to him. Now it's her turn to point the finger. "This is so like you, Doctor. You do this all the time; when things get too hard to handle, or out of hand, and you just can't bear to face it."

The Doctor's icy blue eyes flicker to hers and he snaps, biting out his words, accent thick. "I'm doing this for _you_."

She shakes her head and swallows hard. Her mouth is suddenly dry, and her words feel like sawdust in her throat as they push past her lips. "No, you're running away. You always do – because although you won't admit it, you are_scared_. You always have been. You're scared of the consequences, of your own decisions." Her feet carry her closer, fingers idly running over the little moon-shaped indents on her skin that her nails had made. "You push away those closest to you and distance yourself; uncaring about other's feelings or how they may react. You just jump into your little blue box and disappear. You leave us, those who care about you most - to rot, to die. We really are just ghosts to you."

"Don't be so _stupid._" The Doctor grits his teeth and he's moving towards her all of a sudden, eyes dangerous. "Everything I do I do in order to keep you _safe_. Your safely is always first and foremost on my mind."

She flies at him then, unafraid. She grasps at the lapels of his coat and crushes them beneath her small hands, yanking him down to her level. There is a flash of surprise in his eyes that is soon replaced with a smouldering intensity she has never seen before. "You are scared," She almost whispers, teeth bared and voice low, "Inside, you are still a frightened, _selfish_ little boy with a box."

She knew he brought this out of her, this burning anger that she couldn't control. She wasn't afraid to shout at this version of him, no matter how many dark looks he gave from beneath his eye-brows, and it was easier to stay angry at him too. Instead of brushing it all off and bouncing back after conflict, this Doctor would brood and sulk much like a disgruntled six year old. He would disappear, moping somewhere deep within the TARDIS, until she finds him in the library hours later; face planted in one of the many dusty novels that lined the shelves, glasses slipping lazily down the jagged arch of his nose. She wonders idly if he has ever read all those books, imagining how many hours he must have spent in there throughout his previous lives, nose buried in books that seemed older than time itself. But as she marvels at the way his lips twitch slightly as he reads, or the way his eyes glisten with the interest and wonder of a small child – so strange yet so fitting even on his aged features – that she thinks, with great incredulity, that maybe he hasn't.

His hands on her shoulders pull her away from her thoughts, and she's suddenly aware of the Doctor's fingers digging into the fabric of her shirt, pressing down on her skin. He pushes closer to her than it seemed possible, the tip of his nose just about pressed against hers and his breath thick and laboured in her face, his body crushing hers against the hard metal of the console.

"Maybe you're right – perhaps I do push you away." His voice is but a growl and she can almost feel his blood pumping widely. His skin is hot as his hands slide from her shoulders to the long curve of her neck. "Perhaps I am selfish. Perhaps I run – perhaps I close my eyes and bite my tongue and ignore the dull pain in my hearts, and perhaps I pretend that if I wish hard enough I could one day will it all away."

He's so close to her she can feel his heavy, warm breath on her cheeks, trace the silver-white flecks in his icy blue gaze. "I may just be a selfish old man with a box, running away because it's sometimes the only thing that feels right - but I never forget the people I love most. Over 1000 years and I've never stopped loving, never stopped caring – and I've never stopped regretting and hating myself for it." His long, clever fingers are brushing her cheeks, and he cups her jaw in his palms before she can pull away, his eyes searching out her's. "And Clara - oh my Clara - my impossible, beautiful, _stupid_ girl; I can't ever lose you. Don't you understand that? Not again. I don't think my hearts could take it."

She feels tears prick her eyes at his words, and she wants to beat her tiny fists into his chest. She wants to scream at him until her throat hurts, to hurl insults and cry words she will regret. She wants to hurt him just like he hurt her – but she just _can't. _Her body trembles in a mixture of violent fury and a stubborn, unrelenting, passionate love that she still feels for him, despite it all. She knows she will always feel like this. She knows that she will love him beyond his flaws, whatever the face - tied to him by feelings that she can't execute. She was born loving him, just as he – this version of him - was born loving her. They're bound together forever by this unyielding, unfeasible force; and the thought alone, as contradictory as it sounds, makes her want to run and never look back.

He's aware of her quickly beating heart, relishes in the feeling of it pounding against his own. His fingers brush slowly over the soft, _human _skin of her cheeks and it takes him a moment to realise he's caressing her. Clara stares up at him from beneath her lashes, her eyes dark and uncertain, small fingers tightening around his coat, and he suddenly realises how close he is. His nose brushes hers softly, his gaze flickering to the perfect curve of her lips.

_So close._

Her heart is in her throat, and she feels heat rising to her neck and cheeks, skin tingling slightly where the Doctor's fingertips had gently touched her. She watches the blue orbs of his eyes as they lower to her lips, and she too finds her own gaze traveling down his face. This is not the first time she has surprised herself by finding this version of him attractive, his mature features enticing her and drawing her in like some sort of mysterious, invisible force.

She swallows when she feels him leaning closer, his mouth inches from her own slightly parted lips, and suddenly all she wants to do is kiss him. She wants to scrape her short nails across his scalp and leave angry, red marks across his neck. She wants bite his lower lip until it hurts, and capture his tongue between her teeth. She wants to _pain _him somehow - to unleash all her frustration and anger and passion onto him because the man just _infuriates_ her.

But she loves him all the more for it, and she knows wouldn't change him even if she could.

He swallows and, as she watches his tongue dart out to swipe swiftly across his lips, she knows he's thinking the same thing. She blinks and she whispers his name, the word passing from between her lips like air. His eyes flicker to hers suddenly and she watches with amusement as a crimson blush creeps across his cheeks, to the tips of his ears, and she feels empty and hollow when he quickly peels his self away from her warm body.

He clears his throat awkwardly, not meeting her eyes. "Right… uh…" He starts, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck, "We should just, uh…"

Her lips curl, and she glances away coyly, lifting herself away from the console. Her legs tremble slightly but most certainly not from anger. She thinks she may need a lie down. "I'll be in my room if you need me." She breezes past him towards the doorway to the corridors, brushing his shoulder purposely.

The Doctor keeps his eyes on his feet until she's disappeared around the corner. He lets out a breath that he hadn't realised he'd been holding up until now, before dragging his self to the TARDIS chair and lowering into it. He drags a hand across his face, trying to comprehend all that had just happened.

He wonders at what point he had started to think of his little assistant in such a way that could get his twin hearts pumping two-fold, or the tips of his ears pink with embarrassment and blatant attraction. He knows he shouldn't be imagine what it would be like to cover her lips with his own, to trail his mouth down the soft curve of her neck, or what it would be like to have her writhing body beneath his. He almost wants to slap his self as his mind creates images that make him want to slam his head against the TARDIS console repeatedly.

He wonders how his little human could inevitably cause him so much anger, and yet make his heart swell for her all the same. He muses as he plans their next destination, all those painful thoughts of sending her home momentarily forgotten as he thinks fondly of his tiny, stubborn companion.

Clara Oswald, the girl that suddenly seemed like most wonderfully impossible thing in the universe.

And he loved it.


End file.
